Irresponsible Puckboy (Puckboys #2)(60)

At least then we’d have a clean break.

We’re so exhausted and mentally drained that when we get home, we both crash out without even a goodnight kiss or handjob. And when I wake, Dex isn’t snuggled into me like usual. He’s sitting up, his delicious abs on display, but his focus is on his phone in his hands, and the scowl on his face isn’t my Dex.

“What are you looking at?” My voice is croaky from sleep.

He flinches. “Fans being brutal.”

“Well, yeah, we sucked ass last night, and not in the fun way.”

Dex’s anger disappears for the briefest moment where his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “You do that?”

Oh, honey. “You still don’t know half the stuff I do in bed.”

He puts his phone down. “Why not?”

“Because I’m trying to ease you into this whole gay sex thing. When you first learn to drive, you don’t floor it in a Lamborghini.”

Dex eyes me. “And in this situation, you’re the Lambo?”

“Mmhmm.”

“What if I don’t want you to ease me into it? I’m doing all right so far, aren’t I?” His face falls. “Fuck. Aren’t I?”

I laugh. “You’re acing it. But we have an entire year to explore each other.” I nod toward his phone on his stomach. “What are the fans saying?”

“That us being married messed with the team dynamics.”

“Wait, what?”

He shows me his screen, which is the Twitter feed for the hashtag #mitchellmarriagecurse.

“Stay off Twitter. That’s where rationality goes to die.”

“How can people be out there saying things like they want us to break up and that I played hockey better before I was gay? And why do they assume I’m gay because I’m married to a man now? Why does being married to you suddenly cancel out all the women I’ve been with?”

I know exactly what he means. “Welcome to the other side of being in a same-sex relationship.”

“This is … normal for you?”

“Haven’t you ever wondered why I don’t have a Twitter account other than the one the team runs for me? Ever since I was drafted and came out, I’ve been dealing with this kind of shit. It’s all part of the territory.”

Dex looks stunned. “Why … why didn’t I know? I’ve seen stuff here and there, but … not like this. This is … everywhere. And constant. There’s been a hundred new tweets about us since I woke up this morning.”

I take his phone. “Which is why I stay away from it.”

“How do you all deal with it? You, Oskar, Ezra, Anton—”

“Maybe you should talk to Anton. He only came out last season. Guys like Ezra and me, we’ve been out from the beginning, so we haven’t known any different. It sucks that with all the progress we’ve made, there are still people out there who want to blame our sexuality for everything, but at the same time, there are some really great things that come from being an out hockey player too.”

“Like what?”

I check the time. It’s still early Saturday, which is perfect, and we don’t have to be at the practice arena until this afternoon for a skate to keep loose for our away game tomorrow night. “Let me show you.”





Twenty-Five





DEX





When Tripp said he was going to take me somewhere to see the upside of his being out, I’ve gotta say, I expected a gay strip club or something.

So sitting here, staring out the windshield at a small ice center just outside of Spring Valley, has me confused.

“What are we doing here?”

Tripp puts the car into park and turns off the engine. “We’re going to talk to some people who might be able to help.”

“Like a team psychologist? We have one of those.”

Tripp gives me his crooked smile that makes my gut all jittery and unclicks my seat belt. “Get your ass out and you’ll see.”

He grabs our gear bags out of the trunk, and I follow him across the quiet parking lot and into the center. There aren’t many people around, and I worry whether we’re supposed to be in here or not. “You sure this is okay?”

“Trust me.” He opens the door to the rink and waits for me to pass.

Down on the ice, there’s a junior team running drills.

“In here.” There are only three rows of seating, and Tripp nudges me into the back one.

I go quietly, and we sit there listening to the familiar sound of skates on ice and the clip of the puck hitting their blades.

“You going to explain yet?” I ask.

“These guys are part of a minor hockey club.”

“Cool.” Minor hockey teams usually play for sport and fun, not with the drive to get into the big leagues, and if Tripp has brought me here to point out what my future looks like if I don’t get my shit together, I’m gonna be pissed. That will only put more pressure on me and my game.

“This team is the Rainbow Raiders. All queer players and allies.”

Oh. My eyebrows jump up, and I watch the kids with renewed interest. “But hockey is all about You Can Play. Why do they need a queer team?”